


185/120

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9238709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yakov isn't paid enough for this shit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure that 185/120 is Yakov's blood pressure, all the time. 
> 
> This is based on [a hilarious comic](http://doodlesonice.tumblr.com/post/154942463026/i-cant-wait-for-yuuri-to-be-the-son-in-law-yakovs) by the very talented [doodlesonice](http://doodlesonice.tumblr.com/) and was originally posted to [tumblr](http://rcmclachlan.tumblr.com/post/155248462642/well-anon-you-got-your-wish-i-ended-up-writing). It's also unbeta'd as hell.

He makes the boy go through his entire free skate twice before seeing where the chip in it is beginning to spindle into a full-blown fracture. “You don’t bend your knee enough before your triple combination, and because you’re not getting enough height you’re not getting enough rotations. It’s sloppy! I don’t know how you managed to get this far with such mediocrity. Get out there and do it again, and if you don’t bend your knee at least 40 degrees I will get up and leave.”  


Crossing his arms, Yakov sits back and waits. 

For the shouting. The high-pitched whining. The crocodile tears and the rending of spandex. Or, as a bonus, threats to destroy his reputation by going to the press to expose his fascist ways and then have unruly fans burn his house down. Coaching Yuri Plisetsky for the last two years has primed him to expect just about anything.

Except Katsuki gives him a serious nod, bows low, and says with a gratefulness that borders on uncomfortable, “ _Hai!_  Thank you, Coach Feltsman!”

With that, Katsuki glides to the center of the ice and _actually does as he’s told_. After he launches himself into the air at a perfect height, he waves at Yakov and shouts, “Was that better?”

Yakov blinks.

Katsuki falters, then skates back over, wringing his hands. “Was that better? You don’t look—Should I do it again? I can do it again!”

Before the boy can fully turn around, Yakov’s hand shoots out and forcefully keeps him in place. Katsuki darts a surprised glance down to where Yakov’s fingers bite into his arm as though they were shark teeth, then up at his face. 

“C-Coach?”

“Are you mocking me?” 

Katsuki’s tentative expression morphs into something resembling fear. “I, uh—what?”

“Do you find this funny? Do you think this is a _game_?” The last time he was this humiliated, Lilia’s lawyer told the judge that she was asking for three quarters of their marital assets, including the painting of the sad, crying clown that had been given to them by Dorothy Hamill at their wedding. He _loved_  that painting. “Why the hell would you do whatever it is you just did?!”

The fear becomes terror, and Katsuki blurts, “B-Because you told me to!”

Yakov stares. “Because… I told you to.”

“Is that… bad?” Katsuki cringes away from him a little bit, shoulders braced against a coming blow, and Yakov can do little else except release his arm and step back from the boards. Katsuki blinks at him, confused. “C-Coach? Did I… Was that wrong?”

While waiting for the world to tilt back on its correct axis, Yakov drums his fingers thoughtfully against his arm. “Your footwork.”

Katsuki winces. “My footwork?”

“Your step sequence is good, but it could be great. Go through the sequence and see if you can shave down the time by a second, or even two. Count in your head if you have to. Having extra time will work in your favor if you fall.” Yakov snaps his fingers and points out at the ice, and Katsuki straightens so suddenly that Yakov almost expects to hear something snap in his spine.

“Thanks, Coach Feltsman!” But then the boy pauses and a sheepish expression melts over his mask of determination. “Um, I don’t know if this is inappropriate but—”

Here it is. Here comes the backtalk. 

“—I made a bento box for you. Uh, bento is… it’s like a packed lunch? I put it over by our things. I mean, it’s nothing special because I wasn’t really able to find a lot of the ingredients, but at least you won’t be hungry.” Whatever Katsuki sees on Yakov’s face nearly puts him on his ass, because he immediately begins backpedaling. “Oh god, forget I said anything! It’s weird, I know! I’m sorry! You don’t have to eat it! I’m just gonna—

There comes the _sssshhkk!_  of blades skidding to a stop, followed by a familiar snarl. “Bribing him with food isn’t gonna make you a better skater, you loser!”

Katsuki turns his head and positively beams. “I made one for you, too.”

When Yakov was a child, he had a toy that taught animal sounds. If you pulled the cord in the back, the arrow in the center would spin, land on a horse or cow or chicken, and play a recording of their call. Yuri is much like that toy, except whenever his string is pulled, the arrow lands on an outlandishly expressive emotion. Yakov could spend his entire life trying to condense whatever it is twisting Yuri’s too-fine features into an ugly Vrubel painting, because ‘Looks like he swallowed a bucket of centipedes’ is too much of a mouthful.

“I’LL EAT IT!” Yuri shouts, awkwardly stepping backwards as though he’s completely forgotten that he’s standing on _ice_. “BUT ONLY BECAUSE I HATE WASTING FOOD.”

If Yakov had a kopek for every time Yuri threw away half of what was on his plate or refused to eat at all, he wouldn’t be doing this bullshit for a living. He’d be surrounded by beautiful women on a beach in the south of France.

Katsuki turns back to him, blanches, and quickly mumbles, “I-I’m just gonna work on my step sequence now. Thank you, Coach.”

Bowing low, Katsuki flees to the center of the ice and—does just that.

Yakov toys with the idea of crying. 

Instead, he goes over to the bench where their stuff is piled and spots an insulated lunch bag. He unzips it and looks down at the neat, black box nestled up against a napkin, a pair of chopsticks, and a tiny fork. 

He opens the box. He takes it all in. He exhales.

He calls Victor, who picks up on the fifth ring like the rude brat he is.

_“Hi, Yakov! Having fun? How’s my Yuuri? Is he doing well?”_

“I have never in my entire life asked you for anything outside of skating, but I’ve reached an age where living with regret is not something I care to do. I don’t have much time left, Vitya, and with that in mind there’s something I must tell you.”

_“… Are you dying?”_

Out on the ice, Katsuki completes a near-flawless step sequence, then waves at him and shouts, “It wasn’t perfect, but don’t worry! I’ll do it as many times as it takes to nail it, Coach!”

Yakov nods, lifts a hand in acknowledgement, and makes a note to find a way to keep the boy in St. Petersburg forever, because, “IF YOU DON’T PUT A WEDDING RING ON THAT BOY’S FINGER, I WILL DO IT _MYSELF_.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [185/120 [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10088669) by [rhythmia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmia/pseuds/rhythmia)




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